


Final Straw

by shnuffeluv



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Crushes, Dialogue Light, Drunken Confessions, Fake Character Death, Hospitals, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Panic Attacks, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Stabbing, Tim is Not Smooth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: Also known as I Read a Thing On Tumblr And This Idea Wouldn't Leave Me. McGee is just a tiny bit panromantic, Torres is a tiny bit of a jerk, and Delilah doesn't exist as an obstacle between them.





	Final Straw

Tim's heart just about stopped when he walked into the bullpen the morning after they had finished a brutal case. There, in the center of the floor, was Nick, blood staining his shirt with a knife in the center of his chest. His bag fell to the floor and before he even knew what he was doing he was crouched over Nick, searching for a pulse. His hands were shaking so hard and all that was running through his head was _no no no no Nick can't die Nick can't die Nick can't die!_

Just as he put two fingers to Nick's neck the man's eyes shot open. Tim shrieked and flew back to his own desk, shaking harder than before. Nick just laughed and sat up. "Wow, McGee, didn't know you had a pair of lungs like that!" He pulled on the supposed knife handle and it came off his shirt with a ripping sound not unlike Velcro. "It was just a prank, lighten up!"

It took Tim a solid minute for that information to sink in, and when it did the icy fear in his chest melted into lava-boiling rage. He walked over to Nick, grabbing him by his shirt and pinning him to the wall of the bullpen. "What do you think you were doing?!" he yelled.

Nick held his hands up and had that stupid, cocky smirk on his lips. "Woah, okay, man. It was just a joke, lighten up about it."

All Tim could see was red. "It's _not_  just a joke!" he bellowed, bringing Nick away from the wall only to slam him into it as hard as he could.

"Hey!" a voice yelled from behind Tim, ripping him off Nick. "Take a walk, Tim."

Tim turned to find Gibbs glaring at him. He huffed, pulled on the edge of his jacket sleeves, nodded, and stalked away. He knew that Gibbs was going to deal with Nick about this problem, and he also knew that if he stayed there he'd probably shoot Nick when the man tried to defend himself. Pranks were one thing. Faking his own death...was quite another.

Tears came to Tim's eyes, though whether it was from relief or delayed mourning he had no idea. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, trying to get the tears to go away and to hide the fact that he was crying before he had even started. It was hard enough to have to work with Nick without these sorts of antics. The man's low voice, casual flirting with anyone and everyone he chose, and general physique had Tim blushing inwardly almost every day. When he had thought Nick was dying, words and phrases he had never dared to consider before popped up to the forefront of his brain, and Tim realized that this attraction to Nick was more than just shallow aesthetics or a fleeting crush. No, he was fully head-over-heels and Nick didn't even know it.

If he said anything now, though, he'd be doubly screwed, though. Rule One and Rule Twelve, and all. Gibbs probably already saw him as screwing over Nick, though really it was the other way around. If he were to try and date Nick...yikes. He didn't want to think about the trouble he'd be in.

Nick entered the bathroom and shifted on his feet when he saw Tim. "Uh, look, man..."

Tim rolled his eyes and left with a short, "I don't want to hear it."

He walked back to the bullpen and caught Gibbs eye. Gibbs tilted his chin up in a silent question. _You better?_

Tim nodded and went to his desk, reclaiming his bag and getting to work. He ignored Nick when he returned, but nodded his greetings to Bishop and then Quinn when she arrived. He gave Nick the silent treatment for as long and as much as he could to show his anger and also to not act on it. He could tell Nick was getting agitated, but Tim just brushed it off. He deserved it at this point.

* * *

A week later, Tim was finishing processing their crime scene when he got a text from Nick. Which was...odd, considering he was just supposed to be in the next room over. _Can you come over here real quick?_

Tim frowned. _Aren't you just in the next room?_  he texted back.

_Two over. Thought I heard something. Need backup. Now._

Tim shook his head and pocketed his phone after texting Bishop, Quinn, and Gibbs. He figured this was just another prank, but on the off chance Nick had found something, he went over. He opened the door and immediately noticed the blood on the carpet in the middle of the room. Next he noticed the phone Nick had used to text him, blood smeared on the touchscreen. And finally, he noticed Nick, curled up next to the pool of blood, eyes closed and a bloody gash across his stomach. Tim scoffed. "Really, Nick? Once wasn't enough, you decided to pull this prank again, except at a crime scene? You do realize you could be contaminating something?"

He got no response, and Tim frowned, taking a step closer. "Nick, c'mon. Stop messing around, Gibbs'll be here any second."

Still nothing. Tim frowned, crouching next to Nick and making the mistake of breathing. The blood in front of him smelled thickly of iron, something fake blood never did. Tim quickly realized the gash was not just a good make-up job, and Nick was dying right in front of him. His brain shut off entirely, hands going on autopilot as he turned Nick on his back and put pressure on the gash. "No. No no no no no no no," he breathed. "No, Nick, you can't die, you hear me?! You're not going out like this!"

He pressed harder on the gash and Nick's face briefly showed pain even while unconscious, and Tim let out a sigh because at least Nick was still alive, Nick still had a chance.

Tim's hands were covered in blood, as he had taken off his gloves to interview witnesses and hadn't put them back on again since he was just taking pictures of a few final things. Now they were bright red and only getting redder, and whenever he tried to put too much pressure on Nick's stomach his hands would slide around. He watched the rise and fall under his hands carefully, making sure it never stopped. It couldn't stop; it _couldn't_  stop because this was Nick he was talking about, Nick Torres, the guy who had lasted eight years undercover in a myriad of situations and he was _not_  going out like this if Tim had anything to say about it.

Someone tried to pull him away from Nick but he fought against them. He _had_  to stem the bleeding, he _had_  to keep up the pressure, _Nick can't die Nick can't die Nick can't die--_

"Tim, stop! They're here to take him to the hospital! Nick's safe, let the paramedics do their job!" Gibbs ordered, and since when was Gibbs in the room?

He removed his hands and Nick was rushed out of the room on a gurney and Tim shook, hands red and hot and wet and blurring in his vision as he started to break down. Someone was helping to his feet, and it was all he could do to tear his eyes away from the bloodstain on the floor. "C'mon, you need to clean up before they'll let you in the hospital," Gibbs said, guiding him out of the room.

Breathing heavily, Tim shook his head, staring at his hands. "He's gonna die," he whispered. "I thought it was a prank and didn't help him right away. If he dies because I didn't help him soon enough it'll be my fault."

"Nick will be fine," Gibbs assured him. "C'mon, you can take a shower at the office, change into less blood-stained clothes and go to the hospital. You can see him in person and know he'll just be fine."

The ride to the office was a blur to Tim, but he was all too aware of showering Nick's blood off him. The smell still followed him, refusing to go away, bringing up the horrible image of the stab wound. The second he was physically clean, he hopped out of the shower, getting dressed and nearly sprinting to his car. Halfway there he realized he forgot his keys and was about to turn back when Gibbs walked up, dangling them around Tim's face. "You forgot something. Call us with any news, okay?"

Tim nodded, dashing the rest of the way to the car, fumbling with the ignition, and going to the hospital as fast as he could without being pulled over. He must have looked like a wreck to the receptionist when he asked where Nick was, but she looked through the system regardless and informed him that he was still in surgery, but was almost done and Tim could wait by the OR, and gave him a visitor's pass and directions.

Sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, Tim could barely stand the wait until the surgeon came out. He went weak at the knees when he heard that somehow, Nick's major internal organs had been missed, and all he needed was stitches and some time off work. He managed to convince the doctor to let him into Nick's room, though he wasn't entirely sure how. Everything was blurring together in his panic. He sat in the chair next to Nick's hospital bed, holding his hand, discreetly feeling for a pulse to assure himself that Nick was alive.

Nick woke up from the anesthesia they gave him fairly quickly, and looked over to Tim, giving him a weak smile. "I really regret that prank now," he groaned.

Tim laughed so hard tears were coming to his eyes, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Holy crap, Nick, I love you."

Nick chuckled, and Tim frowned at the reaction. "Bishop owes me twenty bucks. I _know_ ," he said.

Tim was torn between blushing and paling, and he imagined it was quite a site for Nick to see, bright red around the cheeks and pale as a ghost everywhere else. "You...what?"

"Remember that night where the team got in a drinking contest and you won?" Nick asked.

"I remember the hangover better," Tim said dryly.

"Yeah, well, you got up on stage at that karaoke bar, picked out a love song, and dedicated it 'to the one agent who helped me fully realize my pansexuality,' or something like that. That meant you were either interested in me or Gibbs, and everyone knew it couldn't be Gibbs. There's been a betting pool on when you'd confess for _weeks_."

"Probably pan-rom acehood," Tim muttered to himself. "But...you knew? And you didn't think to put me out of my misery and _tell me something_?" he asked.

"Well, judging by how you acted the next morning you barely remembered anything, and you certainly didn't seem to realize you liked me. Took me a while to realize when you would get all blushy and a while longer to realize even _you_  didn't know you liked me yet," Nick laughed.

"I'm an idiot," Tim groaned.

"Hey hey! You said it, not me," Nick said with a grin.

Tim punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't make me regret coming down here," he warned.

Nick grinned. "Relax, Tim. When I'm better I can do the table dance on your desk all you'd like," he said with a wink.

Tim blushed bright red. "I...uh...I-I-I r-really don't thi-think--"

"Relax, Tim. I was joking," Nick said. "Though I would like to talk about what this means."

"Over dinner, maybe?" Tim asked against his better judgement.

"Yeah, sure," Nick said. "Just don't tell Gibbs, he might kill us both."

"Oh, he knows," Gibbs said, poking his head into the room. "Next time, Tim, you might want to call as soon as Torres is _out of surgery_. Bishop insisted we drive here to see how he was holding up."

"Tell her she owes me twenty bucks!" Nick told Gibbs.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and left the room, leaving Nick to shamelessly flirt with Tim until he was blushing as red as a firetruck, and Tim to thank his lucky stars Nick was alive and well enough to do it.


End file.
